


Always

by orphan_account



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: M/M, No Gods No Masters, Ransom feels some quality nostalgia/angst about his upcoming graduation, and Holster is a soft boy, but like, i just love the pining!Holster trope so much, lowkey pining, ransom doesn't really realize that, transferred from my tumblr because it's midnight and no one can stop me
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-07
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-28 20:43:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,235
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11425833
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: “I’m going to miss you, dude.”He hadn’t meant to say that. He hadn’t meant to think about it, had been keeping himself from thinking about it from the beginning of the year. Neither of them had mentioned it, acknowledged the finality of everything. When he ignored it, it was easy to let himself believe they’d be Ransom-and-Holster forever.----Or: Ransom feels nostalgic and stressed about graduation. Holster doesn't want him to worry.





	Always

“Okay,” Lardo said, taking another swig from the bottle of gin they’d been passing around. “Worst class you’ve ever taken?”

The noise of another kegster, not their last together but frighteningly close to it, thrummed through the floor of the attic. Sometime after midnight Nursey and Chowder had started trying to go through various Haus rules, proper kegstand procedure and ratios for tub juice, with the Tadpoles like Holster and Ransom had done for the past two years, and Ransom had found himself hit with senior-year nostalgia again. It was the kind of weird, happy-sad ache that pulled from under his ribs and made him want to hold onto everything tighter.

He was going to graduate in May. He’d been accepted to med programs at Emory and UPenn, and he was waiting to hear back from a couple other schools. His future wasn’t some nebulous concept any more; it felt real. It felt too close. It was so much easier just to melt back against his bed, next to his two best friends, and to soak up the way their words seemed to roll around the room and fill it up completely.

Holster snorted and leaned against Ransom, reaching around him for the bottle but not moving away once he had it. “International Finance Theory with Professor Lawrence.”

“The professor who always looks like he’s, like, _this_ close to physically imploding?”

“Yep. He’s just… such a stressful dude to be around.” He passed the bottle to Ransom.

“Population Genetics,” Ransom said, then took a drink. “Loved the topic, but hated the amount of reading we had to do. I’m not sure if I slept at all that semester. What was your worst?”

Lardo scrunched her nose up in distaste. “Contemporary Theory. This one asshole in my class kept trying to prove he was smarter and better and more original than everyone else, and I got tired of it really quickly.”

“‘Better than everyone else’? Had he ever heard of you before, or was learning of your immense talent a humbling experience?” Holster asked with a melodramatic reverence, earning a grin from Lardo.

“Shut the fuck up, Birkholtz,” She said, turning away from them, tone sharp and back straight, as if trying to put on the cooler-than-ice persona she sometimes used to fuck with the Frogs and Tadpoles before they figured out what a softie she was. Her smile completely blew the act.

“Let me love you, Lards,” Holster crooned. “You beautiful, manager-art-goddess.”

“You’re such a fucking dork.”

“I could call your boyfriend up here right now, if you want to hear a dork.” Holster mock-threatened. “He’s absolutely wasted on tub-juice and he’d love nothing more than to compliment the shit out of you.”

“He’s biased.”

“You know what’s not biased? Science. Rans, what does the scientific community say?”

Ransom snorted around the bottle before scrubbing his face of all emotion. He looked Lardo dead in the eyes, doing his best to keep his composure. “Scientists everywhere agree that you are the most bomb-ass motherfucker on the planet. A true bro. Queen of Pong.”

She threw a pillow at him.

“Shut the fuck up.” She said. “You’re the _worst_.”

“You’re blushing,” Holster said delightedly.

“I haven’t seen anyone that red since the time we got Holster to try medium salsa.”

Holster looked completely betrayed. “Hey-”

“ _Justin Oluransi_ , you do _not_ add insult to injury,” Lardo hissed, primly sliding off of the bed. “I have _never_ been that red in my entire life.”

“Yeah, except for right now,” Ransom argued, like an asshole/good friend.

Lardo flipped him off, closing the door behind her with a thud, loud enough to be theatrical but soft enough to be safely interpreted as a joke. Holster snorted at it. Something about the way his upturned mouth caught in the shitty lighting of their room twisted something inside of Ransom.

“I’m going to miss you, dude.”

He hadn’t meant to say that. He hadn’t meant to think about it, had been keeping himself from thinking about it from the beginning of the year. Neither of them had mentioned it, acknowledged the finality of everything. When he ignored it, it was easy to let himself believe they’d be Ransom-and-Holster forever.

Holster pulled back from Ransom, a confused look on his face. “Bro, you’re not going to miss me. I’m not going away.”

“We’re graduating in May, Holtzy.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like we’re moving to opposite sides of the planet. We’ll skype, and we can visit each other whenever Med School isn’t kicking your ass too hard. And it’s not like I’m not applying for jobs all over.” Holster smiled optimistically at him, bumping their shoulders together. “Who knows? We might wind up in the same city.”

“Or we might not.”

Ransom’s words settled heavily in the room. He was playing devil’s advocate, he knew, but it wasn’t anything he hadn’t thought before. Sometimes people grow apart, no matter how much they care about each other. 

Holster looked… hurt, surprised, and Ransom suddenly wished he could take back what he said, swallow the words whole just to keep from seeing the tumble of thoughts behind Holster’s eyes: surprise and hurt and something warm and stubborn. Holster’s eyes went from blue to steel, and his shoulders set into something more determined. He inclined himself towards Ransom when he spoke again.

“Remember that time I got really sick, freshman year? That nasty stomach bug that was going around campus?”

“That time you couldn’t get out of bed for a week?” 

Holster nodded. “And I couldn’t eat anything but the really shitty chicken soup from the Stop-and-Shop.I felt like fucking garbage, and I didn’t want to move or think or-  _anything_. And I’m pretty sure there was a lot of throw-up. It was disgusting.” 

Holster leaned further into Ransom’s space, eyes still locked together, and Ransom was pretty sure he’d be blushing if his skin tone allowed it. Something that fluttered in his stomach for half of a heartbeat wanted him to be closer.

“Yeah, you were a little disgusting,” Ransom said, words entirely too steady against the pulse in his throat. 

Holster leaned back a little, smiling, and the distance helped Ransom feel like he could breathe again. “You took care of me anyways. You didn’t have to, we’d only known each other for, like, a couple weeks, but you checked on me everyday.”

“I was worried about you, dude. You’re my best friend.” 

“Yeah, but we weren’t best friends _yet_. Like, I really liked you, and I knew we were going to be good friends, _maybe_  best friends, but we didn’t know each other that well. But like, after the third time you came with that shitty chicken soup, I knew. I knew that we were in this for the long haul, and that we’d be end up being best friends and roommates, that we’d graduate together and be at each other’s weddings and all that. And I was right.” Holster’s voice softened. “You’re a good person, and my best friend, and someone who should know that he can count on me being there, always. I never want you to doubt that.”

“Yeah?” Ransom asked, melting under Holster’s words, the determined warmth of his best friend, the certainty of a forever between them. 

Holster smiled, a small, almost shy smile. “Yeah man,” he held out his hand for a fist bump. “Always.”


End file.
